I wonder what the neighbours would think if they looked through the lounge window of my quaint little cottage?

I’m facing the wall on my knees doing ‘corner time’. Perhaps not, in itself, enough to cause much of a scandal.

But I’m not wearing very much, you see. Just my black stockings with garter belt and my three-inch, block-heeled Mary Janes – the ones that Ian always prefers to see me in when he visits.  Other than that, I’m naked. Unless you count the nipple clamps and ball-gag. Do I count the nipple clamps and gag? I’m really not sure. Dammit, it’s my birthday, so let’s be daring and say we will count them.

I’m conscious that the window is visible to passers-by.

Ian knows this, of course. It’s part of my punishment and it amuses him.

It wouldn’t be unfair to say that I’m considered a most respectable and accomplished lady in our village; a pillar of the community, if you like. Former captain of the golf club, Patron of the Repertory Society, and vice-president of the Bridge Circle. In addition, many of the local wives have visited my humble abode on social occasions for afternoon tea or supper.

But not when my lover is here. No – the meeting of those two worlds would not be ideal. If I even begin to picture it in my mind I shudder and can only imagine the scandal. The reverberations would echo through the district for a very long time.

There is a part of me, however – the more daring, irresponsible part – that does want people to know what happens in my home when my paramour visits. Sometimes I want to yell it from the rooftops. I want to be liberated and proud of my recently discovered sexuality, and not care about the inevitable judgment.

I secretly yearn for someone – a neighbour, perhaps, or the post-lady – to walk up my garden path, glance through the window and see me kneeling here, my bare arse on display for all to see.

My bottom is still pleasantly sore. Ian wasted no time in putting me over his knee when he arrived yesterday afternoon, and it wasn’t long after that his delightful spunk coated the inside of my mouth. There’s nothing like a short, sharp bare-bottom spanking with the hairbrush followed by a messy blow-job to set the scene for the weekend, is there? I run my tongue over my teeth and savour the memory of his cock pulsing down my throat and over my face; It had been over three weeks since I’d last sampled his tasty seed, and my poor cunt has been aching for him.

I should explain that I’ve become very needy since I came in out of the wilderness. I’m not allowed to masturbate when Ian isn’t here, and he deliberately left me unsatisfied last night. Now my quim is leaking in anticipation and I’m looking forward to the rest of my birthday treat; of being used and abused on my special day, and of serving my son-in-law as he desires.

I’m literally quivering. From a complete novice and a position of subservience, Ian has become very adept at this game, and he takes me to places I never imagined existed. He’s settled into the role of a sexual dominant very comfortably, and he likes to play with me and tease me. There is also, of course, plenty of chastisement. Not sadistic punishment, you understand. No, it’s not like that. It’s just that he understands exactly what I want – what I need!

Last night we didn’t really play. It takes him a while to unwind after the long drive. Despite the fact that I’d been waiting for him like a bitch in heat, I needed to give him time to get in the mood. He gave me a spanking just to take the edge off, knowing I would be more responsive if he indulged me a little. The spanking was for me, but the blow-job was for both of us. I sucked him off not just to relieve the stress of his day, but also because I love having his cock in my mouth and his cum in my stomach.

I have become a complete tart for the man my daughter discarded.

After we’d got some of that initial tension out of the way, I’d prepared a simple evening meal for us both. Ian had sat at the kitchen table, drinking wine and watching me. He was already looking more relaxed.  I wasn’t quite so naked last night as I am now. I’d worn a simple white blouse with a black skirt over my stockings; the back of my skirt was tucked into my garter belt, leaving my bare bottom exposed. The top three buttons of my blouse were undone, and my breasts were on show for Ian’s viewing pleasure – Ian sees no need for either panties or a bra when he is here. The stilettos on my feet accentuated the shape of my calves and the pearls I wore around my neck added the touch of class that I knew Ian enjoyed. I could feel his gaze when he occasionally looked up to watch me.  I sensed his smile as he surveyed my reddened buttocks, and as he examined my generous tits with their large aureole and hardened nipples.

Ian relishes me exhibiting myself like this and it is now expected. I know it turns him on and the fact that I can do that at my age gives me enormous satisfaction and self-confidence. It also makes me feel like a disobedient slut; an errant housewife who has been chastised by her husband for poor behaviour. I love it, and he knows I love it and it makes me incredibly wet.

He knows that too because he crudely inspected me whilst I was standing at the sink. ‘Your naughty, juicy cunt’, he called it after he’d stuck four of his fingers in me. He wasn’t wrong and he’d left me gasping with need and just laughed when I’d looked beseechingly at him.

“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, my little slut,” he’d smirked.

That was last night. Now, things are a little different. Things have moved on.

I know, I know! I can hear your questions from here.

How did this all start? I hear you ask.  How did it start? Ha, now there’s a story.

Shall I share it with you?

Why not.

My daughter was a shrew and left Ian for another man. She used him up and left him alone, broken and in tears.

I’d raised Zoe on my own and it hadn’t been easy. When your husband disappears without warning one day never to be seen again it leaves you humiliated and bewildered. Why did he leave? What did I do wrong? You become insecure and unsure of yourself. Your world is turned upside down and how the hell do you raise a five-year-old girl after that? I did my best but I no doubt stumbled along the way.

Time is supposed to heal all, and somehow, I’d achieved much in my life. But some scars never really mend, and the everlasting shame I felt following my husband’s sudden departure meant that I never let anyone in. The shutters were up, and I never gave anyone the opportunity to glance through the window into my soul. I’d never taken another lover since that inexplicable day.

It had been a very lonely life.

When Zoe first brought Ian home, I’d been so pleased for her. And no doubt just a little bit jealous, too. They were full of excitement and youthful joy, constantly giggling and touching each other without a care in the world.

At night, when I heard them making love, I couldn’t help myself. My fingers would stray as I imagined it was me lying there beneath Ian’s lithe body; my legs wide apart as he drove his hard cock into my deprived snatch, making me gasp and moan just like my daughter was doing.

I had needs, too. It was just that I so rarely found the stimulus to do anything about them. On those envious nights, I had to make sure I gasped and moaned very quietly.

Ian was a man I could have fallen for as easily as my daughter. I’d always had a soft spot for him. He was thoughtful and kind. He made me laugh and when he was around, I felt like a real woman again; not just the shell that I had become.

Ultimately, it wasn’t enough for my daughter, though. And Zoe jettisoned him with a ruthlessness that almost destroyed him.

After my own experience, I was more than a little angry with her. How could my own daughter so callously do to someone what had been done to me?

Ian took a long time to heal. He bore me no ill will and despite my daughter’s disgusting behaviour, we remained good friends. If anything, Zoe’s departure brought us closer together. Ian would visit at least once a month and we would talk, and I would cook him dinner, and we would drink wine, and talk some more and occasionally – every once in a while, – we would laugh together, and our hands would touch and there would be that little spark of electricity – that little frisson – that made you gasp and wonder.

Then, one day, there was a kiss. Just an almost accidental brush of the lips followed by a blush and a nervous giggle. Searching eyes met in the silence that followed. And then there was the stroke of a thigh, and…

And the impatient, pent-up frustration of years on hold was released. Lips mashed together and panties were ripped off. A ragged, frenzied coupling ensued, and my desperate cunt was given an urgent, raw, badly-needed stuffing. That first time he screamed as he filled me with his potent cum and I raked my nails down his back, drawing blood and cumming like a steam train violently discharging the stifled pressure that had been building for an eternity.

After that, everything changed.

It’s true that I am no longer in my prime. I’m fifty-three years old and my tits are no longer the proud blossoms they once were. There is an undeniable sag to them. Nor is my stomach as flat as it used to be. But Ian didn’t seem to care. In fact, he seemed to take delight in my seasoned, middle-aged body and its mature shape. He made me feel good about myself as a woman. He made me feel alluring and sexy.

And slowly, ever so slowly, we began to heal; together we repaired one another. Sympathy and kindness played an important part, but not as much as the frequent, empathetic release of unbridled passion.

It was a catalyst that led to unexpected results.

Our relationship was nothing like the one Ian had had with Zoe. In that partnership, I sensed my daughter had always been the driving force. The dominant partner, if you will. But Ian and I were very different. We discovered that we had uncommon needs and desires.

Away from Zoe, Ian had the freedom to express himself and, as a result, he transformed into something new. Someone alluringly different.

As did I. Suddenly, I was able to give all the repressed, hidden cravings I’d ever had an opportunity to express themselves with someone who understood – and who encouraged me to flourish.

It didn’t happen all at once, of course. Our journey down the rabbit hole took months before we arrived where we are today.

Strangely, Ian was the more submissive one to begin with – almost certainly the lingering remnants of his relationship with my daughter, who overshadowed Ian with her suffocating personality. He no doubt would have thought me like her – particularly as I was his mother-in-law who, as we all know, is traditionally a dominating, fire-breathing witch.

But I am not her. I welcomed his advances and acquiesced to his tiniest desires with enthusiasm, surprising him with my own, unanticipated submissiveness.

It’s not that that is how I naturally am. It’s how I was with Ian.

I encouraged him; gave myself to him in tiny fragments. He had only to hint at something and I would be there, doing it for him.

Until the balance shifted. Until he started to take charge of me and give me what I didn’t even know I wanted; what I subconsciously needed.

And now things have changed completely. Shall I tell you how he leaves me shaking and gasping; drained and sated like a worn-out dishrag? How he has me begging him to make me cum. I have become the ultimate whore, willing to do anything he wants.

It started innocently enough. I accidentally overcooked the steak one day and in an amorous moment of mock severity, he suggested putting me over his knee and spanking me as punishment.

I’d blushed a deep red and, meeting no immediate objection from me, I suddenly found myself over his lap with my skirt up and knickers down, my bare bottom lying vulnerable before him. My cunny was getting damper by the second and my blush only deepened as I knew he could see from my stickiness how excited I was by his actions.

That first spanking began gently enough; designed to stimulate, not punish.

And it did. My breathing quickly accelerated, and it made me so wet that I begged him – pleaded with him – to spank me harder.

He happily obliged me, and within seconds I came powerfully on his lap. Twice. Over the next few minutes, he covered every inch of my generous bottom with hard spanks as I encouraged him, telling him what a naughty, careless housewife I’d been and that I deserved a good hiding. He spanked me until I was sobbing and my bottom was a deep shade of purple, and I couldn’t get enough! When he’d finished, he pulled me up, bent me over the kitchen table and fucked me from behind with a fury I’d never experienced before.”

“You careless slut!” he hissed. “You stupid cow! I’ll teach you to ruin my dinner!”

He’d given my buttocks a few more sharp slaps before, with a huge bellow, he shot his cum in me so hard I thought I would choke. That, coupled with Ian’s derogatory words led me to a third, shuddering climax. I lay there crying, bent over that table with my skirt up over my waist and my knickers around my ankles. I had a sore arse and spunk dribbling down my shaking thighs, and I was more content than I had ever been. I could not ever have imagined having a release so intense – so liberating!

And I felt cared for. Somebody I – somebody I loved had taken charge of me and was giving me what I needed. Something I’d never had before.

Does that sound weird?

Ian had pulled me up and turned me into his arms, hugging me close to him.

“I – I’m so sorry, Ian,” I’d cried into his shoulder. “I won’t let it happen again!”

“There, there,” he’d crooned, patting my back and comforting me. “It’s all over now, Alice. There’s a good girl.”

ooOoo

The powerful release of emotion had been a startling revelation for us both. As I reflected on what had happened, I couldn’t believe how incredibly excited I had been when Ian suggested punishing me. I realised I relished the idea of submitting to him.

That was also the first time I realised I loved Ian. But it was more than that; I trusted him. Trusted him to do what was right for me.

I knew I’d given him tacit authority to spank me when I willingly bent over his lap. But I sensed a change in the dynamic between us as he clamped me over his knee. He was suddenly demonstrating to me who was in charge; he was showing me his authority.

And it aroused me.

After that, there were so many more things I wanted to experience. Things I’d vaguely read about but had never believed would apply to me. But now, thinking of these things made me drip with desire, drenching my knickers with yearning.

How do you tell the man you love that you want these things? I didn’t have to. Amazingly – Instinctively – Ian understood me. He recognised my newly discovered hunger and encouraged me, and in so doing we unearthed a whole new world.

We discovered how aroused I became when my nipples were pinched; how excited and wet I was when he called me a whore and a fat cow, and how I revelled in being denied permission to cum. My heart quickened when he decreed I should do housework dressed in nothing but a pinny, and it made me horny with desire when he threatened to have me answer the door so attired.

Why did I want these things? Do we ever truly know what drives us? To my friends, I was just respectable, middle-aged Mrs Alice Andrews. A pleasant, slightly fuddy-duddy, fairly ordinary single woman whose son-in-law diligently visited her once a month for supper.

How utterly banal I must have appeared to other people.

But now, supper is about the only ordinary thing we do together. I can only smile when I think about what else we do – and what the reaction of my neighbours would be if they knew.

I wonder how many would swap places with me?

ooOoo

I digress. Where was I? Ah, yes – it’s my birthday and I’m on my knees facing the wall with my hands on my head.

Corner time is something Ian introduced recently. He says it gives me time to think about what is going to happen to me.

He’s not wrong.

After fifteen long minutes, I hear Ian approach. He helps me to my feet.

“Stand by the window,” he instructs.

Heart suddenly thumping, I do as he says. Now anybody passing who happens to glance in this direction will have a clear view of me. I feel a distinct thrill at the possibility. Taking his time, Ian snaps a lead onto my nipple clamps. I wince and feel a jolt in my clit as he tugs on the rope to test its efficacy.

Nodding in satisfaction, Ian leads me upstairs by my tits, each slight pull making me gasp into the gag. My pleasure palace is already soaked, partly due to his window tease.

The third bedroom has been modified into a playroom. Nothing too conspicuous. Nothing that can’t easily be removed if one has guests.  

Ian cuffs my hands and chains them to a strong point fixed to one of the medieval crossbeams. He then attaches a spreader bar between my ankles. My arms are now raised securely above my head, and I cannot close my legs.

Ian’s gropes between my thighs and thrusts his fingers rudely into my cunt, feeling my wetness.

He smiles and sucks his fingers noisily. “Wicked Alice. I should whip that dripping minge of yours. Teach it another lesson.”

I gasp at his words. The last time he did this, he varied the strokes of the crop against my most sensitive spot, driving me almost insensible with a decadent mix of pleasure and pain that made me squeal and swear, and beg him to make me cum.

I wasn’t sure I could handle that level of torment today.

Instead, I watch intently as he attaches tiny weights to my labia. I suck in my breath as each load pulls down on my sensitive flesh.

Then Ian introduces me to his newest toy and my eyes widen. It’s a stainless-steel butt plug and I can see that it’s a step up from anything he’s used on me before.

I enjoy the sensations as Ian’s fingers explore and lubricate my bottom, and then he starts to rub the toy against my nervous back door. He is patient, and I grunt each time it stretches me. Ian gives a final little push, it slips past my sphincter and its bulk is firmly inside my arse. I feel very full. He gives the plug a teasing wiggle and I whimper in response.

I wish it was his cock in my bottom. I desperately want him to fuck me there and feel him spurt in my backside.

But he has so far denied me that privilege. Now he whispers in my ear.

“Do you deserve to be punished, slut?”

I moan unintelligibly through the gag. He slaps my tit.

“What?”

I swallow and nod apprehensively.

“As it’s your birthday, I think you should feel Pamela’s kiss, don’t you?”

I gulp. Pamela is the large wooden paddle Ian bought for me, and she is an awesome implement.

Pamela was the name of my headmistress at school. It seemed appropriate.

I hate Pamela. And I love her. She always takes me right to the edge. When she swings into action, I scream and sob and consider the safe signal. But if I persevere – if I allow her to take me to that place where the endorphins kick in, then the pain evaporates, and nirvana beckons. Sometimes I climax even as the mascara runs down my face.

Pamela leaves me limp, drained and compliant. Once she’s finished her work, Ian carries me to our bedroom, tenderly wipes away the tears and makes love to me. He makes me feel so cared for and wanted in those moments that I cannot stop myself from weeping with joy.

I nod in acquiescence.

“I’m glad you agree. How many strokes do you deserve, Alice? Six?

I meet his eyes, then shake my head.

“Nine?”

Again, I shake my head.

“Twelve, then?” I hesitate, then nod.

“Are you sure?”

I close my eyes and nod again.

“Very well.”

I hear him pick Pamela up; can feel him behind me as he takes up position. There is a pause, as he allows the tension to build.

Thwack!

“Hmnppph!” I cry. My chest heaves as agony envelopes my bottom and tears well up in my eyes. Ian waits until the pain recedes, and I am poised for the next stroke.

Thwack!

“Aghhhh” Oh, God! My teeth clamp around the gag and my buttocks clench automatically. The clamps and weights zing their presence maliciously through my body and I’m bucking like I’m riding a bronco.

Thwack!

“Wumphf!” The sound of the splat on my naked skin is incredibly loud and my tormented flesh bounces and breaks with Pamela’s impact.

Thwack!

Thwack!

Thwack!

Three more times Pamela does her ruthless work. I am close – the release of the endorphins has already begun, and I am entering that zone where I float in the ether.

The phone rings.

Ian pauses and glances uncertainly toward the handset. My impending release is abruptly ruined, and I let out a stifled screech of frustration. The answering machine kicks in, and I suddenly hear Zoe’s voice. I remember it’s my birthday and, of course, I should have anticipated this. My daughter ringing to wish me bon anniversaire.

My eyes meet Ian’s, and I can see the bulb go off in his head. I desperately shake my head as he picks up the handset, interrupting the message and putting the call on speakerphone.

I can’t believe he’s doing this.

“Hello, Zoe.”

A pause. “Who is this?” I hear Zoe ask suspiciously.

“It's Ian. Have you forgotten my voice so quickly?”

“What are you doing at my mum’s house?”

“Just visiting, Zoe. You know we still meet occasionally.”

“Can I speak to my mum please?”

I can see what he’s thinking. My eyes beseech him, beg him not to say it.

But he does it anyway.

“I’m sorry, she’s a bit tied up at the moment.”

Bastard!

“I beg your pardon?”

Sometimes, men were so stupid!

Ian could see the genuine irritation in my expression.

“Hang on, Zoe – I’ll see if she’s available.”

He quickly undid the gag and held the phone next to my mouth.

“Hello, sweetheart,” I said brightly. With his other hand, Ian was running his fingers up and down my slit. I glared at him.

“Happy birthday, Mum. You sound a bit odd. What's wrong? Why is Ian there?”

I cleared my throat. “I asked him to come over for dinner. You know I still see him occasionally, Zoe.” I looked daggers at Ian, who now had his finger on my clit. “We’re friends.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I like him visiting you on your birthday.”

“Why not, darling? After all, you’re not here to see me. It’s nice to have someone here who cares about me.” If I don’t murder him after this…

“You know it’s difficult for me, Mum. And I care about you, too.”

“Really?” Bugger this. A reckless fury was building inside me. Why was I pandering to my daughter, given all she had done?

And suddenly I didn’t care anymore. Didn’t care whether she knew about Ian and me, and what we were doing on my birthday.

 “Actually, darling, Ian’s right. I really am tied up. I’m naked and Ian and Pamela were in the middle of giving me a good seeing-to. Is it alright if I call you back later?”

“What?”

“There’s nothing like a nice rogering on your birthday, is there? And I really need to cum. Bye, darling!”

I hear a shrill, unintelligible squawk as Ian terminates the call.

“Christ, Alice!”

I gave him a weak grin. “I’m going to regret that, aren’t I?”

“Maybe.” I could see him thinking it over. “She will be apoplectic, yes. But do you care?”

“Not really, no.”

He looked at me ruefully. “Sorry.”

“You should be.”

“Okay, what now?” he asked pensively.

I knew exactly what now. “Obviously, I’ve been a very bad girl, Ian. I want you to start again. I want you to thrash me.”

“Again? All twelve? Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want all twelve, as hard as you can.”

He hesitated. “Very well. But you let me know if it’s too much.”

“I don’t care. Just do it! And it’s tough titties on my bitter and twisted daughter. She’s had it all her own way for far too long. And when you’ve finished, I want you to fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, Ian. After that little episode, you owe me. I want…” I didn’t quite know how to express how much emotion I had at that moment, how much I needed to reach the place that had just so recently been denied me.

I closed my eyes, swallowed, and stifled a sob.

I didn’t usually top from the bottom, but this was different.

Ian just nodded. As usual, Ian understood.

There wasn’t time for a slow build now – my need was too urgent. Holding nothing back, Ian swiftly delivered twelve blistering strokes to my already scorched bottom. I was blubbing like a schoolgirl as Ian released me and led me over to the one piece of furniture that would have raised serious questions if anyone cared to look.

It was a spanking bench upon which Ian quickly secured me with my bottom perfectly exposed and helpless.

“Now,” he smiled. “It’s time for that ‘nice rogering’ you mentioned to Zoe."

The best thing about the spanking bench was that I could rest comfortably. Knowing I was in safe hands, I relaxed, and the stress started to leach from my body as Ian carefully removed his new toy from my bottom.

His hand sought my snatch. His fingers found my clit and I automatically pushed back, seeking the cathartic release I was so desperate for.  

“Uh uh,” Ian chided. “Not quite yet. Just a little while longer, my little harlot.”

He patted my cunny and sobbing in disappointment, I sank back down.

“It’s your birthday, Alice and I’m going to give you your present now. I’m going to fuck your naughty arse, Alice. I’m going to give you what I know you want. I’m going to show you exactly how it feels to have your bottom reamed by my big cock and then I’m going to fill your backside with my seed.

Oh, god, I thought. He still knows what I want better than I do.  

And then his hardness was at my slippery, dilated entrance. I felt his tip penetrate my welcoming hole and then he was sliding right inside me and taking me, owning me like I wanted him to. He was thrusting now, and I was making guttural, animal noises as he sodomised me. His stomach slapped into my ruined buttocks and then I was shuddering and shaking and, finally, floating into the abyss…

ooOoo

Do I like being treated like this?

Oh, God yes, you bet I do!

Our relationship is a funny thing. He takes charge and I am his. In those moments, I belong to him. But within our consensual bond, things are more equal than you would imagine, and he is also mine. Yes, I look after his needs, but he also takes care of me. At the risk of repeating myself, Ian gives me what I need! This didn’t transpire by accident. We made it happen together, choosing a careful route that suited us both. And I have never been happier.

ooOoo

“Do you love me?” I ask as we lay entwined in bed.

“I love you.”

“Will you look after me?”

“I will. Forever and always.”      

I smile into his chest. It has been a good birthday, despite the interruption.

And then I hear the doorbell.

“Are you going to answer that, Alice?”

I look down at myself and smile. “Why not.”

Whoever it is, they’re in for a bit of a surprise.